


Aftermath

by crookedwitness



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 23:24:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedwitness/pseuds/crookedwitness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jen Watson (not) coming to terms with things post-Fall. A quick work inspired pretty much entirely by John Watson's not-coping in Many Happy Returns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

Jen found herself ensconced in a thick quilt she thought she remembered seeing draped over Mrs. Hudson’s couch downstairs. She was in 221B, sitting on her bed, without any lights on. The curtains were dark, and since they were never quite thick enough to blot out the outside light no matter the time of day, it was safe to say it was nighttime.

She blinked carefully four times, _what, scared you can’t even blink correctly Watson?_ asked the caustic voice in her head that began to sound more and more like Sherlock on a bad day the longer they’d lived together.

Sherlock.

It hit her then, the phone call, the dash to Bart’s that ended with a limp pulseless wrist under her fingers. The run that, besides the beginning and end, she could only recall in a way that reminded her of a shattered mirror. Nothing was connected and it didn’t seem like the events could slot into place to form any sort of whole.

She choked on tears then, tears that she was sure she’d already shed, but she couldn’t remember shedding. She couldn’t remember anything at all-- But then, she didn’t really want to remember it.

Untangling herself from the quilt was a more difficult endeavor than it would be any other time, half because her mind was on every other thing she needed to be doing and half because her hands just _would not stop shaking._

But she managed, stumbling out of her bed and to the stairs--

Looking out on the flat was just like it had been any other day. She lurched down a few of the stairs before fumbling to sit on a stair about halfway down.

She wanted to check. The news, Sherlock’s bedroom, the morgue. It couldn’t be true. It was a lie. Sherlock Holmes couldn’t die-- couldn’t die-- if Sherlock Holmes could die, she would’ve died long before Jen Watson managed to infiltrate her life, right? Drugs, criminals, hell, her brother was a hazard to the continuation of life.

But Sherlock herself?

And why, why had Sherlock called Jen? A note? Was that-- was that really Sherlock’s version of being normal?

Jen woke up the next morning on that same stair, hand wrapped around a column in the bannister and head pillowed between a pair of columns. She sniffed a few times, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her jumper-- not the same one she’d been wearing yesterday, she noted dispassionately, wondering if this was the sort of thing she should care about-- and descended the rest of the stairs with a calm she didn’t feel.

And Jen Watson nodded, allowing herself one last, what, act of mourning? Defiance? She strode to the kitchen and picked up a beaker with some sort of probably-not-acidic solution. She meant to throw it to the floor. Smash things. That made people feel better in the face of this kind of adversity, right? Destruction.

But Jen Watson wasn’t a destroyer even when in the throes of inimitable grief. She replaced the beaker and turned to the stove, prepared to make two cups of tea. When that realization set in, she turned from the kitchen and stalked back up to her room.

She was sure someone would come by with tea sooner or later. And they’d find a Jen Hamish Watson who didn’t need much help when they arrived. Besides the tea. She’d stay away from making tea.

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said in the summary, this was inspired by the minisode Many Happy Returns, because everything was just so somber and beautiful and I couldn't help myself.


End file.
